At last, new poems!

Sorry, folks. It's been a really long time. But here are several new posts for YMMFLA! Check them out. Post comments about what you think. Send in your own work!

Anonymous.
[break her down]

Like a flower in the sky, I fall gently, creating disturbance beneath me and natural disaster across the seas. I take my place on the stone ledge, fixing my eyes on the edge, begging some part of me not to go through with it, all the while knowing I won’t do it. I witness fear enter in, starting to call revenge my closest friend, daring the eyes to see all they have done. I pinch myself, this is no dream, catch a deep breath, finding in me, searching deeper for more meaning – nothing. Getting closer, feet are trembling, my heart keeps beating; now its racing, somehow being torn between, never knowing if it is worth it to stay alive. I hold my head above the water, those who follow, somehow stronger; though they stumble they find footing absent from my own. No one sees me, the sun betrays me, I jump into the black beneath leaving behind my last words and a final goodbye - not even a shadow. I am beauty, see me falling? Catch me.


Latoya Brathwaite, Age 18. Barbados.
Suicide

I smashed the mirror on my bathroom wall
And watched my reflection shatter
Depressed, sad, ugly girl...she was gone
The memories, the revolting pain, it all ceased to matter
I smeared on some makeup
I dyed my hair red
And that night...that night,I left her behind
Lost within the sharp shards of glass, her face, once was mine

My words dripped with forged bouts of happiness,
Sentences punctuated with the whitest "Oh-emm-gee"
Ten, eleven, twelve...ficticious tales of a wild, exciting life
I laughed until I cried, I cried on the inside, inevitably
I signed on to Facebook
I added my new "friends"
And when in pain I told myself, she would fade after a while
So I drowned her out in sleeping pills and bullied my mouth to smile

The moon hid behind the cloud, the crickets screamed
The night I lost my virginity
When it was over, he pushed me off the bed and laughed when I started to cry
Where were my friends
I felt ugly again
Depressed
Lonely
In my hand, the butcher knife gleamed
Before I could carve a line on my wrist...I saw her reflection
The knife distorted the image but I recognised her
Clarity replaced insanity...the wrongs I did to her,came flooding back to me

I made her overdose on the wild life
Evertime I pretended to be like them, the noose tightened around her neck
I stabbed her in the heart when I gave away my innocence
Clarity.
Her reflection would always be mine
When the knife slid from my hand...I realised, I had already murdered
Me.


Joshua Diehl, age 18. Denton, Texas.
Concerning Inadequacy

Inspiration,

How you torture me as a flipping switch
Turning swiftly, repeatedly, from marriage to suicide
Between art and happiness, I cannot decide
But sorrow never seems to kick me into the ditch

My heartstrings have become sanguinary
But this could never be a fault of yours
Lord, I do not think this has been a dream of sorts
Although I am not certain of anything, anymore

No longer shaped like a cradle, both hands on the rusting rail,
Barely shuffling up perished steps
I forgot to take the time to reconstruct a liar’s bed
No wonder I come home only to the coffee she left

Time will spread her wings and fly
If you let her stare too long into the sky
I do not think your love will fix everything
But God, how I would quite love to try


A.M. Young, age 22. Jenkintown, PA.
Molestation

Binds me to the past, like a pair of steel clasped hand cuffs
Tightened to my wrists, I feel them squeezing the blood
Blood that should be flowing from my hands to my heart

My heart beats rapidly as I am linked to the past barely surviving
Laughing at the notion of thriving ever even considered
Soulless it seems from the lies of the deep abyss

Light indigo lines ran rapid in the child’s eyes
Or were they dark like the color of the soil
Forgotten now the simple description of the doer

Look what ignorance has done to the Molested
Ignorance of the molested and the doer
Ignorance of the guardian, the watcher, the closeness

Binds me to the past, like a shackle of a slave
Crippled I am soul, body, and mind
My innocence forced out

Driven out of the soul like a whipped, beaten horse
A stallion beautiful once, but now a simple ass
Loaded with the stress of a strain not its fault

HA! Says the molested, HE! Says the ass
I am wounded, forgotten, overlooked
I am bound to this past, the emotion of a tumultuous storm

The storm rages on and pours down over my body
Cleans dear lord of all my oppression
“Blessed are they who mourn,

For they will be comforted”
I can only pray
The binding of the my soul to the molested


Anonymous.
Little Word

If I were going to write you
it would only be one word—
hi.
I’d print it so small
that it would be barely
visible, just a whisper
of lead on paper
saying
I am still here.

Ned Vizzini and It's Kind of a Funny Story

I am so excited to be posting this next submission. It's from friend and fellow young adult author, Ned Vizzini. His most recent novel, It's Kind of a Funny Story, was adapted as a film and hits theaters across the country TOMORROW (10/8/10)!

Read more about the film and its outstanding cast here. And more about Ned and his infinite awesomeness here. Finally, Ned and I will be doing a reading together on 10/26/10 at Barnes & Noble in Park Slope, Brooklyn at 7pm.

Ned Vizzini, age 29. Los Angeles, CA.

"When I went into a psychiatric hospital for a week-long stay for depression and 'suicidal ideation' in November 2004, I found myself with a lot of time on my hands. Although I'm a writer by profession I decided to try and do abstract art. I limited my color palette and tried to just make pleasing shapes with Cray-Pas on paper. The goal was to see the colors blend well and to bring motion to the composition. I ended up really liking these drawings, and I used the art-therapy angle when I made the main character of my subsequent novel It's Kind of a Funny Story draw 'brain maps' during his own hospital stay. In a real way, these are the drawings that inspired the brain maps."

"Cutting a line that starts out thin."

K. Quimby, age 19. North Carolina.

Done With A Twist

Feeling the cool tile floor against her face

No one to warm her in a big embrace

She wonders how she got like this

Looking down at her cut up wrists

On her wrists she sees unbearable scars

This time she took it way too far

Putting the razor to her skin

Cutting a line that starts out thin

Going deeper than ever before

She just lays there on the floor

As the blood flows out of her wrist

Using the razor for just one last twist

Letting all the blood drain

She feels no more pain

It’s over and done with

Another scar with a twist

Picking herself up off the floor

She is heading to the door

Grasps the door knob tight

She says it’s just another night

Final poetry contest entries!

These are the final entries to the poetry contest! A big thank you to everyone who sent in poems and read/commented on the submissions. To find out the first prize winner and the five runners up, check back on April 30th! (All winners will be notified before the 30th.)

Don't forget, http://www.youmakemefeellessalone.blogspot/ is a year round place for you to post poems, stories, and art about your struggles with mental illness. Your words are powerful. Your words can help people. Share them.

Sarah Plumb, age 31
Behind the Smile
My smile
it's my signature
everyone knows it
people compliment me on it
My eyes too
They're bright, green with yellow flecks
Ironically they're more beautiful
after I cry
People are always shocked
when they find out
You?? You have depression?
Surely not
You're always so bubbly
so happy, so alive
And it's true
I am happy
Happiness is my true state
But I have a disease
sometimes it envelopes me
Only those who really know me
ever really see it or really get
that it's real
Am I such a great actress?
Or is it just worse when I'm alone
Probably both
It's always there
like a birthmark
an anxious, depressed birthmark
Visible if you know where to look
But hidden to most
It's always there
Sometimes it seems
larger
Sometimes it can fade away to almost nothing
I like when it fades
but it's part of me
I accept it
I look on it with love
and hope for peace

Anonymous, age 18
[safe place to fall:]
"yesterday you asked me if i would go to your funeral, if you had one, and i said i did not know. i stood at the wall, starring down, and you asked me if i thought it was a far way down, and i said i did not know. your eyes got lost in the distance as you stepped towards the edge, and i pretended not to feel the pressure against my arm as i gently held you back; you asked me if i thought it would kill you to fall, and i said i did not know. i lied. the answers haunted the back of my mind as i fought against the thought of losing you. i was too scared to say yes. i contemplated the same questions in my mind, breathing in the familiar sense of having nothing left. it feels like death, standing so close to mid air, reliving all the moments that brought you there. it feels like death to look in someones eyes and to see yourself staring back, wanting so bad to take the emptiness away from them so they can feel again. but the end never seemed so far away as i promised more than i thought i could ever believe in. tomorrow came, and i need you to know i love you. i cannot lose you. and even though i said i did not know, i know more than you dared to ask. you taught me how to believe that everything happens for a reason - even when death tries to steal you away, there is someone else standing there anticipating the fall, telling you 'i do not know how or when, but it will all be okay. i promise.' and all you can say is 'yes' - to life and to believing in saving a life. no lie."

Anonymous, 21
Don’t Be Fooled
Wow, who is that girl in the picture?
She looks like the happiest person on earth
Huge smile, glittering eyes, must be
I wish I was happy
Even half as happy
It’s better than nothing, torture, and fear
And look at this one
She has so many friends
They look so close
I wish I had friends
Yeah I know people
But they just put up with me
And they don’t even really know me
Acquaintances not friends
Awww, look there she is with a guy
I wonder if it’s her boyfriend
She must have guys chasing her all the time
I wish guys liked me
A guy would never want a girl like me
I’m so lonely
There she is posing on the beach with friends
She looks so care free
I want to be free like that
But I’m trapped by my problems…
And who I am
One last photo of what appears to be the happiest girl on earth
I wish I could recognize her
“Hey you, do you know who this is?”
“Don’t be silly, that’s you…
From yesterday”

Manar H., age 15
it’s murky today
not quite opaque
i can almost see
clear through the lake

i used to sit there
underwater
i used to sit there
fit to slaughter

i’d swallow silt
and bathe in mud
washed in guilt
with grime for suds

i’d seek the sun
and talk to none
i’d hide from light
and yearn for flight

but it was dark
always dark
and it was still
very still

and when i thrashed
the water held me
and when i crashed
the water felled me

one day i crawled out
bruised, sick, and dirty
one day i found out
the sun couldn’t stop the hurting

now i sit on the bank
and stare in the mirror,
the dark face of the lake
and it couldn’t be clearer

the reflection i see
is my battered soul
the darkness is but
nature’s cruel toll

but it’s murky today
not quite transparent
still, you could almost say
that change is apparent

TJ, age 60
I feel it coming
the unwelcome visitor
who stays too long
and demands too much

Powerless to stop it
I can only watch
as darkness arrives
and makes itself at home

It opens my mail
and hides the letters
but leaves the bills
for me to find

It takes the space
that once was mine
and redecorates
without my approval

It moves into my bed
and pushes me over
steals my sleep
and the blankets, too

It will grow tired of me
and slip away
but not soon enough
and never for long

One of these days
I'll pack its bags
escort it to the door
and send it away

And next time
maybe I'll remember
to change the locks
before it returns

Angela R. Kurtz, age 42
Jack
R.I.P (09/26/2009) Suicide
I felt you early in my room
For only you could be
Anywhere that you want
So then maybe
You felt the need to come to me
Cause maybe you feel
That you left too soon
And left behind something
Very real
Someone you loved and
Needed you cause after all
My dear I loved you so
Very much and always wanted you here.
I felt you early in my room
And woke up with all tears
For the one I loved has left me
Here to get through all the years
Without his smile or his laugh
And this is all I know
I miss you baby and I cannot
Lie I am miserable for sure
I can’t forget the times you held me
In your arms so tight and let me deep
Into your soul and I never wanted
You to let go
Cause without you baby I am so lost
And trying to make my way
But knowing you will never
Be in my bed again
Is killing me slowly and I’m
Trying to be the strong one
you left behind.
I woke this morn and felt you here
And the tears they just came out
The way you used to brush my cheek
And then without a doubt
I knew you loved me and that
You could feel me inside and out
Now the days are long and the
Nights are too
And when I feel you here
It makes it harder to let go
And get on with my years
For only I can make my life
And this is what I know
I love you baby without a doubt
But now I need to go and do
The one thing that is so hard
Is say goodbye to you
I miss you baby and always will
But now I have to go
And live my life accordingly
And make you proud for sure
Goodbye Baby and please don’t
Come visit me again
For I cannot take the memories and tears
That come with them
I’m moving on or at least I will
Try and make this life complete
For only I can do this on my own
Two feet
Goodbye my love and all things
That could have been for us
I loved you then and I love you now
And never will forget
But until then when we meet again,
I know you will understand
You cannot come to visit me ever
Ever again
Please rest in peace
And remember me for in my
Heart to stay are all the days
That we shared and a love
That will never go away

Adrian S, age 15

I wish only peace, just a moment of rest

But I can't forget, because I'm a mess

Shades of my past, futures of demons

Writhing in my skin, who, alone, can free us?

Running from dreams, chasing nightmares

Seeking some solace, in hope of repair

I'm broken, unwound

I'm bound to my fear

Someone see me, I might disappear

I fade

I die

No one will care

Yet, I hear there's a place

I can abandon my despair

Perhaps, there's a light

To show me there...

Ellie, age 21

We Weren't A Cliche

She has been my home. For the past

five years, she has been the base I

touch to feel secure. You wouldn't have

predicted it, not if you'd known us then.

I was an athlete, a gifted student who was

trying semi-successfully not to fall

apart. She was already broken, with a

recklessness I envied.

So when my control started to slip; when I

couldn't hide the tears, the cuts, the building

anger, she attempted to catch me.

And together, we crashed to the ground.

The sound was deafening.

And, really, that is when the story starts,

because we didn't stand back up.

Instead, we grabbed each others blistering,

broken shoulders and shook. Screamed into

one anothers face. For years we stayed that way,

through treatments, through failures, through everyone's

disapproval, we hung on. If we couldn't fix each other,

there was no reason to save ourselves.

I don't know when it changed. I really

couldn't tell you why. But we learned it was alright

to not always be in the others view. Today, she's decided

to leave, to move to a new state, a new life. I can't

figure out how to let go of her, but I am her friend.

And for both our sakes,

I can't ask her not to go.

A. R. Fantroy, age 18

Above the Influence

Well it wasnt at all hard to see
Through all those heartbreaks and misery
That led up to this tragedy
That killed most of her family
That explained all of this irony
That formed from that cruelty
That never seemed too clear to me
That was stupid and oh-so blurry
In those last tears I see
Falling oh-so beautifully
From his gravelly face we see
He misses her oh-so dearly
From that drunken party
Where she went home unknowingly
She would die so violently
From being drunk and deadly
That he was almost dead and dreary
But it was just her who left willingly
Thinking she could go on livingly
Under the influence now we see
Leads to dying and debauchery
And losing all that cared for me
Because of all the stupidity
Heres a lesson in life we see
Dont drink and drive and you wont lose me

Amanda E. Mtz., age 16

I don't want to be...me.

I don’t want to be crazy.

I don’t want to walk through life scared…of myself.

Scared of what I might do.

Slit my wrists.

Jump out of a window.

I don’t want to be crazy.
I don’t want to be over medicated or

numb.

Not anymore.

I don’t want to be crazy.

I don’t want to lose myself.

Whoever that may be.

I don’t want to feel like this

Panicked.

Scared .

Lost .

Dead.

It’s all in my head they say.

The Panic

Fear

Voices…

So I am crazy

but I don’t want to be.

How do I live with my own worst enemy staring me in the face every morning?

When the mirror lies and the voices yell?
I don’t need your torture, I already hate myself.

I don’t want to be crazy.
Leave me alone.
You, Me, Whoever you may be.

Margaret LaBombard, age 31
"Back Away Slowly"
It's not that I don't love you
I'm just tired of your ways
I want it all to break apart
And for you to go away

I had to plant my feet
So not to hold your hand
Things are hectic Oh so hectic

So why spend time if all I feel is sorry
That can't be want you want

Turn the picture face down and leave
Pretend it never happened
What ever works for you
Baby I'm through.

Pattybill, age 56

Advice for Alice

A spider

Leads you to a rabbit hole

With

Slippery slopes.

Once inside,

You surrender.

Daddy Darkness

Seduces you;

You fall

In Love.

He doesn’t

Take care

Of you.

You eat potato chips & onion dip for dinner, wear dirty pajamas and push greasy hair out of your eyes. Your mail resembles the Leaning Tower of Piza. Your bed stinks.

Find the window.

There is a sign.

Stop.

You worry about what everything means and the duplicity of words.

Stop.

Trust me.

I’ve been there &

I got out

Fourth batch of entries to the poetry contest!

I've been getting so many submissions that I am posting again this week!

Here's the fourth batch of entries to the poetry contest. Check back next Monday for more! Submit your poem by 4/26. Read the guidelines here.

Ellie H. (aka "EO"), age 34
Sadness, overwhelming
Anxiety, devastating
Plans, have no meaning
Decisions, always questioning
Purpose, always wondering
Meaning, never knowing
People, never trusting
Self, always doubting
Depression, never ending.

Sandra Ogle, age 29
American Scene 23
As it would be known, she was not only alive in her own right;
she was basically all life on earth, including mine.
She was much more vivid to the average person
than I was. Around her, it became hard to breathe.
How does she roll? All the way to the top.
Nothing will be as detailed and compact as it was then,
on the days when I pulled the bark off the cedar tree
in long, curled strips and piled it into loose stacks;
one strong, clear vision.

I took the bark that made others sneeze and drew it near to me.
I took a lost sense of smell and reflected on misunderstandings.
I took the words she said and made my own ideas out of them.

What was hoped for has now passed though, and
in place of avid attention toward what could be, I have these
dried stacks of bark, itchy eyes, and mild headaches.
How does she roll?

Carol Linton, age 38
SLASHED
The blood has congealed
No longer running like a river
No longer spurting like a fountain
It is still, hardened,
Like a ruby a - shining
I cover it up, no longer exposed
To the elements of the world
That would enter and fester
Turn from red to green
Don't want it to be seen

The seamstress sews a beautiful stitch
Straight lined perfection
Now all that is left
Is my imperfection
Of how I will always
be remembered of
How lucky I am
To be alive

Grant-Grey Guda, age 20
Epoch of Love
There will be virtue,
Virtue seen so pure,
Pure virtue forever,
In epoch within time,
Time so close and near,
Near to heart and soul,
Soul that seems lost,
Lost in hate eternally,
Eternally in bane stuck,
Stuck for now at least,
There will be an epoch,
An epoch with peace,
Peace so needed forever,
There will be a time,
A time of love powerful,
Love so infinitely caring,
There will be an age,
An age for the hurting,
The hurting will find,
Find that which is sought,
They will find peace,
Arms shall be discovered,
Discovered in that time,
Arms for caring protection,
That time will be wonderful,
We will live without pain,
All will be happiness,
Happiness within that place,
That place of new pure Eden.

William F Dunn IV, age 29
He was on firm ground.
A sudden mass formed from beneath and rose. He was at the top. A bright future all around is what he saw. A rush of joy, and hope is what he felt.
His love pulsated for where he was and for the peak that provided this place he thought he'd never be.
Overcome by his feelings, he lost sight; lost hi...s footing. He slipped. He fell swiftly towards the now rocky bottom of where he once stood. His mind flooded with how things went awry as he faced the approaching, rocky base. An unexpected branch caught him.
He struggled, not wanting to be where he was before.
He yearned to be on top again, knowing there may be a cumbersome ascent ahead.
What came to him naturally, he will now work diligently to earn what once came to him.
"Fortune favors the bold", and he will climb boldly to regain what he cherishes, this peak, with the mental tools he accumulated during his fall.

Maryann H., age 20
Skin Deep
My mom falls back a few steps
to match my pace,
and we continue walking on
side by side
in silence.
She reaches for my hand
and I let her take it,
feeling the gentle caress of her hand
as she runs her finger along the curve
from forefinger to thumb
and back again,
reading the nail marks on my hand
like Braille beneath her fingertips.
She wants to understand
and so do I
as I look down at my hand in hers,
see the bright pink scratches
that I had created,
scattered along the arch of my hand
like fallen needles off an old pine.
She pulls me close
and tells me she has known me my whole life
tells me she has known me for the nine months
before I was born
and that she doesn’t want me
to hurt myself,
that it hurts her too.
I allow myself to fall deeper into her embrace,
fall back into a warm world of
my own heartbeat
and gentle kicks felt from above.
I want to tell her that I’ll be okay,
but instead I close my eyes
and let the world around me be darkness
for a few moments longer.

First entries to the poetry contest!

Happy National Poetry Month! Below are the first five entries to the contest. I'll continue posting the poems in batches throughout the month. To get a notification each time there is a new post, click on the "subscribe" button in the left column.

Remember, you have until April 26th to send in your entry. Read about the prizes and guidelines here.

Jennifer C., age 16

Anxiety

Anxiety walks with me wherever I go.
She wares me out, this I know.
She carries no confidence, while depression keeps her locked up alone.
Still smiles but inside shes dying, going crazy inside though its rarely shown.
Sleep seems hard to come by during the night.
Always wondering when she'll ever change, wanting to escape the tunnel to find a light.
She drowns herself in misery, chocking on her own thoughts.
Wearing her bracelet full of broken dreams and memories, tying it with double knots.
Shes walking toward her beautiful sea, shes wanting to go..bye-bye.
Standing on the rails which separate life from death, she spreads her arms and now she'll fly..goodbye.

Isabelle, age 17

C’est moi?

Who am I? A simple question that teenager’s ask themselves.

Not for me.

Doubts. Questions. Unfamiliarity. Confusion.

Anxiety spiraled these questions out of control for me.

I was just a freshman excited for high school, right?

SMACK

End freshman year and my mind collapses.

SMACK

15 fine and fresh. My whole life ahead of me.

“These are the best years of your life!”

“Enjoy them!”

“You only live once, when you’re older you have no time for fun.”

I thought I had myself figured out.

Lists of catastrophes went through my mind…

I’m suicidal? What?

I’m crazy? What?

I’m not sure if God exists? What?

I’m going to hell! What?

I hate myself.

I hate you.

Who are you looking back at me?

I don’t even know you.

You’ll end up in a mad house.

You are insane!

You are going to embarrass yourself.

-The voice never shut up. It would scream louder until I got in a panic.

Walking around with a smile on my face.

Inside there were tears.

My insides hurt and no one could know.

No one could understand me.

Sleeping was my friend.

The voice left at night time, and the night sky my blanket.

The stars minded their own business while I prayed for a way out.

They glittered all on their own, even for me.

That night when the stars told me to strengthen up and

Look beyond that voice, I changed.

The voice still screamed but this time I smiled at it.

This voice is not mine.

My voice is stronger.

I do things, not you voice!

You lied to me all this time voice.

I am beautiful.

I am a soul.

I am loved, even if I have you screaming through my mind.

You are ugly.

I am beautiful.

You are messed up.

I am a beautiful mess.

You are lying to yourself.

I am powerful.

David, age 17

I'm afraid

Suddenly, i open my eyes
The night is gone
I'm out of my dreams
Like always i'm afraid
I'm afraid to wake up
But i'm also afraid
To go back to sleep

I'm afraid to be alone
But i'm also afraid
To be with people

Every thing i do is with a fear

I walk with a fear
I eat with a fear

I talk with a fear
Being afraid is part of my routine

Every thing i do is with a fear

I'm afraid from every one
And every thing
I'm also afraid
From my own skin
But what am I afraid of?

that's the question
I've being asking.

Stephanie Faith Sizeland, age 18

DEPRESSION

I sit next to the water and think

I think about life

About my future

About my past

And everything in between.

I dig my toes into the sand

And wish i wasn't alone

Because facing life like this...is hard

Waking up each morning

Feeling worthless

Beaten down

And thinking that i'll never be anything more

Then what i already am...

Looking out into the distance

A few tears come

They aren't rapid

There aren't many

But just enough

To ease my sudden pain.

I hate feeling like this...

And being alone just makes it worse

I feel like awful

Like if i were to die

Right here

Right now

No one would even look up

No one would think twice about it

They would just go on with their day

And forget about me.

Part of me knows that isn't true

However,

There is another part

A part that lingers deep within

That questions it from time to time.

I know i shouldn't wonder

Shouldn't worry

Shouldn't cry

But i can't help it anymore.

My emotions completely take over

I can't control them.

Depression is a lot worse

Then some make it out to be...

You think about death

Think about suicide

The ultimate sin.

You never attempt...just wonder

But even wondering

Is a sin in itself.

I sit in the warm sand and ask myself

How do i get happy again?

Do i pretend everyday...

For the sake of my loved ones

Act like it doesn't effect me

Or do i break down

Who knows?

The only real thing i can do

Is take it a day at a time.

It's hard

It hurts

And it's hard to deal with

Every day.

But i'll move on

I'll push forward

And let go.

If i hold on to it all

Let the pain fester

Build up

And drag me down

It eventually will make its way out

By any means necessary.

Crying

Screaming

Cutting

Bleeding

It gets its revenge.

I can't let depression control me

It's something i have to overcome

Something i have to take hold of

And sometimes

I'll have no choice

But to let it have it's way.

Life never gets easier

It gets harder

It's a pain.

But if i take that negative energy

And store it away

It will just drag me down.

And down i will stay

Until i let it out

Until i let it go.

God as my witness

I swear

To take hold of my depression

To rip it to shreds

And to try and live my life...happy

Because i'm done.

I'm done faking smiles

I'm done faking laughter

I'm done faking happiness.

I want to be happy

Really happy

And i will be

I will overcome this

That's a promise i make to my family

A promise i make to my friends

A promise i make to my love

And a promise i make to myself.

HG, age 17

A Villanelle

Breathe in and think, "Everything will stay,"

Lying alone on a summer night,

Exhale and convince myself, "okay."

Struggling to keep emotions at bay,

Anxious that all I love's taking flight,

Breathe in and think, "Everything will stay."

Foreseeing the fees that will be payed,

Trying to keep my eye on the light,

Exhale and convince myself, "okay."

Squeeze my eyes shut, wish it all away;

Too often these battles are tense and trite,

Breathe in and think, "Everything will stay."

Morose when happiness goes astray,

White-hot flames we should seldom ignite.

Exhale and convince myself, "okay."

Sitting in bed, I plead as I pray

For sanctity, only for a day.

Breathe in and think "Everything will stay,"

Exhale and convince myself, "okay."

"I am more than a diagnosis."

Anonymous.

Disorder Central

I used to think that the DSM IV provided a map to little old me, located in Dysfunctiontown, USA. From the time I was thirteen, I have traveled with a host of disorders. I started with Depression, took a left at Bulimia, blew right throw the light at Cutting and braked just before Suicide. I won't even get into the scenic detours of abuse, PTSD and dissociation disorder (not otherwise specified). I packed light, with a backpack full of pills, each of which offered a more horrific side effect than the last.

Along the way, I stayed with some kind people, people who told me I was more than a diagnosis, had potential beyond despair. I wanted to believe them, but deep down I knew I was worthless and broken. I counted off the years since my suicide attempt as time I did not deserve (or want) to have.

I am not sure at what point my trip changed, when I was able to drop my bag and rest awhile. But what matters is that now I can look back on my travels, as distant memories that led me home.

I know you won't believe me, but sometime you will get to rest too. Home is not in the afterlife or oblivion. It's right there, in your future.

"I have this innate attraction to self-destruction."

E., age 21. Illinos.

I want to say I thought about it,
but I didn’t.
I want to say I had the knife at my
wrist, and I almost didn’t do it.
But that’s not what happened.
What happened is I got sick of it
sick of being scared all the time.
I wanted the panic to leave my chest.
So I let the blade sink in,
I dragged it across and watched,
numb, as the skin turned white and
then red.


Releasing the Soul
To pass the time, I write.
Try to purge everything negative out of me;
make the paper the one to suffer all
the pain, the sadness, the cruelty
of this world.
I write so that maybe I can stop
the feelings inside of me from
building up and bursting out
like they have done so many times before.
I write because the one goal I’ve found to strive for
in these most unwilling days,
is that eventually I will be the one
in control.
There is a force inside of me
itching to destroy.
I have this innate attraction to self-destruction.
But maybe writing it down
is like letting it go,
and words will be the one thing that
saves me.

"I have been fighting this, whatever this is, for the past four years."

DEAD, age 15. Virgina.

And recently I have gained a friend who has been able to talk me through situations that I would other wise not be able to get through. We were chatting over email one Sunday and the topic of my Tokio Hotel Fan Fiction novel came up. The story here starts when my friend asks me, regarding another fan fiction I am writing and it's main character, “Was Ananya from The Pain Of Love based off you?”

My answer, “Yes, Ananya was based off of me. Her character in the most simplest form was based off of me. Of course i changed her name and her love for her family that died, was something i wish i had: the love for my family. Not the dying part of her family though.

“Tokio Hotel is portrayed in TPOL in the same manner of importance in Ananya's life that Green Day has played in mine. I was literally, a day away from suicide. i take that back HOURS away from suicide. We were in Everett Washington. we were headed for Seattle and i knew we were going to take a cruise around the Seattle harbor. i had planned and set my heart might mind and soul on jumping off the front end of the ship while it was moving.

“i got in the car and i asked my sister for a CD to listen to in my Walkman. she handed me this disk and said, 'skip track two' i put it in and heard "Don't Wanna Be An American Idiot." sung by Billie Joe Armstrong. i listened to the entire American Idiot CD over twice before we got to Seattle.

“And i am here today. Bill saving Ananya from suicide in TPOL is like Green Day saving me from my own death Then there are the fictional points of Ananya that i added to make her seem less like me and more like a made up figure.”

Her reply was “You know, something told me that it was you. I'm not really sure how or why. Maybe Ananya's character just had more depth and so much more emotion poured into her than Summer, even though the writing style is the same and everything. It must've been a little nerve wracking to do that... basically expose yourself like that even though people don't know that it is you.”

“Well yes and no because Ananya is shrouded by Tokio Hotel instead of Green Day, and Bill instead of Billie, i think it is easier to write for her and i mean as her story progresses, she becomes a lot less like me and more like, well Ananya.

“She becomes more of her own person her on entity her own character and personality forms and it becomes less prominent that she is based off of me. but Ananya does take after me in one more major thing that i can think of off the top of my head She didn't attempt suicide, her Second personality did see, i am Bipolar and times i think that i have bi personality that is really where Ananya splits from being a hidden me to being her own person”

This lead to the discussion of multiple personality disorder. By the end of the chat, my friend has put my on terms where I know who these people in my head are. Billie and June. Billie is this punk ass girl who doesn't take shit from the world. June is this religious girl who is loosing the fight against Billie. And then there is me, the girl the host body, trying to keep from going insane.

I would just like to say, I would not have been able to sit here and write this if it wasn't for her.

Friends are a nice thing...

"In my mind life is an unlivable loudness."

Katy, age 19. Jacksonville, FL.

"There is no cure. That’s the truth; no doctor or family member will pronounce. When we admit there is no light at the end of the tunnel, we have given ourselves no closure. What’s living if were not hoping? Come on really, what’s the use of this fucking terrible life, if we can’t dream of living a fucking wonderful life? Why? God damn’t why, must we even breathe?

Ok, when this ultimate high breaks, we let our brains settle. We go by, living a day by day basis, always breathing. But, were dead, barely baring the placid sky. And, we settle down in our sheets, still there is no cure. Valium, prozac, xanax, nothing removes what the doctor recommends. Why do these feelings surround us? When having everything seems like nothing. When death feels so close we just may burst. It’s sensual, we feel a temptation and we feel special. But, yet we always, always want it out.

What is it that we want out?
And more importantly, why do we seek such vengeance against what
defines us?

“In my mind life is an unlivable loudness. People saunter with their heads up high; no one bothers to look into my troubled soul. Echoes, murmurs, rumors, sounds shake, leading my heart to break. I wear an invisible soul that people walk right over. And yet, I sometimes wonder why I am so helpless. Everyone has insecurities, but it is only mine, which draw all over. They leave me with a bottle of pills, in which I have no desire to swallow, due to my lack of triumph. It is not that I want to be non-existent; I am not yet hopeless. Although absolutely numb, I still feel and just because my bones break doesn’t mean I won’t heal. Dealing is a way of life, feeling is only negative in mine.”

That was just one of the myriad pre-suicidal poems written in my journal full of melancholy, flustered thoughts and poetry. I was seventeen with a life full of the unexpected. Every expectation, every proposal for the perfect future had collapsed. Seventeen years of uttered rebellion and reiterated suicidal thoughts can compels one’s brain to pivot. Not even all the drugs, therapy or shrinks could fulfill the emptiness of my enter-being. I needed people to understand that I did not have answers, only pain that would not elapse. They needed to recognize what I was going thru without thinking I was some deranged freak. Truthfully, I needed to want to get better. I had to want to see the sunrise before my eyes, a fresh patch of yellow roses and the ocean sway. I needed to enjoy everyday because life is not everlasting. I needed to stop sorrowing over every sullen, isolated thought. Most significantly, I needed not to need, but to want to live."